Spellbound.

Leora had been awake for about thirty minutes—at least she thought so. Without a watch or clock, it was hard to tell. She was reading her book when she heard the rapping on the door.

Knock, knock, knock. “Up now, girl! You better be up! If you ruin my Duddikins' special day, you will regret it,” Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut through the stillness, followed by the sound of locks clicking open.

“Coming, Aunt,” Leora said, slipping out of the small room she called her own. She made sure to close the door to the boot cupboard behind her, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than necessary.

“Hurry up and get started on breakfast before Dudley and Vernon get up, girl. And don’t burn anything—I’m warning you,” Petunia snapped.

As Leora hurried to the kitchen, she thought about the time she had hidden in the library and discovered a book on Victorian flower language. She had been waiting out Dudley’s gang—who would never be seen willingly in a library—and found that the flower Aunt Petunia was named after symbolised anger, resentment, and undeserved pride. There were other meanings too, of course, but those seemed particularly fitting. She imagined her grandparents had hoped for the "being with you is soothing" meaning when they chose her name, but the other meanings seemed more accurate.

In the kitchen, she moved quickly, getting the bacon and sausages sizzling and filling the kettle for tea. She didn’t have to think about it; it was such a routine part of her life. She’d been making the Dursleys' breakfast since she could stand on a chair and reach the stove at five years old. Just as she finished plating everything, she heard Dudley and Uncle Vernon stomping downstairs. She made sure the table was set properly, leaving room for the mountain of presents that would soon be unwrapped. Retreating to her corner of the dining room with her single slice of unbuttered toast, she prepared for the inevitable.

Uncle Vernon walked in and gave his usual morning greeting. “Tidy your hair, girl.” Her hair was always a mess. The Dursleys only gave her a broken comb and some old bobbles to manage her dark curls. She wished she could take better care of it so it would look presentable, but all she could do was put it in buns and braids and hope Aunt Petunia wouldn’t notice how long it had grown. The Dursleys would never cut it short—considering short hair on a girl to be freakish and abnormal—but they also disapproved of it growing past mid-back. They associated longer hair with “dirty gypsies” or, heaven forbid, fairy-tale magic like Rapunzel. Even mentioning magic would trigger rants about normalcy and freakishness, which was what first made her suspect that the strange things happening around her weren’t just coincidences. If they ever realized her hair was nearly past her bum, they would have hacked it off with Aunt Petunia’s kitchen scissors, as they nearly did when she was seven. Only Aunt Petunia being distracted by Dudley’s tantrum had spared her then.

When Dudley finally thundered downstairs, making the stairs groan under his weight, he immediately started counting his presents. The only time he ignored food was when he was receiving gifts. Leora braced herself.

“Thirty-six!” Dudley wailed, glaring at his parents. “That’s two less than last year!”

Aunt Petunia’s face tightened as she hurried to soothe him. “Diddums, you didn’t count this one from Aunt Marge, see? It’s behind the big one from Mummy and Daddy.” She pointed to a large present, likely a new computer, given that Dudley had broken his last one after someone at school bragged about the latest model.

“Thirty-seven, then,” Dudley mumbled, his face turning red. Leora pressed herself further into her corner, dreading another tantrum. The last time he had one at the table, he had flipped it, and she didn’t want to see if he could top that.

Aunt Petunia, eager to avoid another scene, quickly offered, “And we’ll get you two more while we’re at the zoo today. How about that, poppet? Two more that you can pick yourself.” As if they wouldn’t have bought him whatever he wanted anyway. Leora was never included in these outings, so she never saw the actual rewards.

Dudley considered this, his face scrunching up in thought. “So I’ll have thirty... thirty...”

“Thirty-nine, sweetie,” Aunt Petunia coached.

“Oh,” Dudley mumbled, finally sitting down in front of his heaped plate and grasping the nearest parcel to unwrap. “Alright, then,” he said through a mouthful of bacon.

“Little tyke wants to make sure he gets his money's worth. Already taking after his old man,” Uncle Vernon chuckled, ruffling Dudley’s short, dishwater-blond hair. Dudley was basically a mini Vernon with his large pink face, lack of neck, and watery blue eyes. His hair was the only thing he inherited from his mother, though if one were generous, they might say he had her coloring—both parents had blue eyes. Aunt Petunia was tall and thin with the same blond hair cut just below her collarbone. The only thing Leora had in common with her was her pale skin, though hers was covered in freckles from spending so much time outside. Her dark red hair, heart-shaped face, and bright green eyes were mysteries she couldn’t solve, not knowing where they came from on either side of her family.

The phone rang from the hallway, its shrill sound cutting through the dining room, and Aunt Petunia hurried off to answer it. Leora watched her go, knowing full well why she wasn’t allowed to handle such a simple task—they didn’t trust her, always assuming she'd mess up even the smallest things. Left behind, she sat quietly with Uncle Vernon, both of them watching Dudley tear through his mountain of birthday presents with greedy hands, hardly pausing to take in what each gift actually was. Already, Dudley had opened a racing bike, a video camera, a remote-controlled airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a shiny new VCR. It didn’t seem enough for him, though, because now he was tearing the paper off a gold wristwatch as Aunt Petunia came back into the room.

Her face was tight with irritation as she announced, “Bad news. Mrs. Figg can’t take her,” she said, casting a disdainful glance in Leora’s direction. “She’s broken her leg.”

Dudley froze, his mouth hanging open in exaggerated shock, while Leora felt her stomach twist with a strange mix of hope and dread. Every year, when Dudley’s birthday came around, his parents would take him and one of his friends to some exciting place—an amusement park, a fancy restaurant, or the movies. And every year, they dumped her with Mrs. Figg, an old lady with intense eyes and a house that reeked of boiled cabbage. Leora loathed being there, where Mrs. Figg’s gaze felt like it was always on her, searching, watching.

“What do we do, Vernon?” Aunt Petunia’s voice was sharp as she turned to her husband, lips pursed like it was somehow Leora’s fault that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg. Not that Aunt Petunia ever looked at Leora with anything but disdain. Leora knew she should feel more sympathy for Mrs. Figg, but the thought of being stuck in that cabbage-scented house made her skin crawl.

“We could ask Marge,” Uncle Vernon suggested gruffly, his face half-hidden behind the morning paper. Leora winced at the thought. Aunt Marge was just as bad as Mrs. Figg, if not worse, with her dogs that always tried to attack her. The scars on her ankles from the last time she’d been around those dogs hadn’t faded, and she doubted Marge would be any kinder than usual.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vernon. She hates the girl,” Petunia snapped, as if Leora couldn’t possibly understand what they were saying. They often spoke about her like that—like she was deaf, stupid, or invisible.

“What about your friend… what’s her name… Yvonne?” Vernon grunted, clearly scraping the bottom of the barrel for solutions.

“She’s on holiday in Majorca,” Petunia huffed, her annoyance bubbling over.

Leora thought about suggesting she could just stay home, but the idea was quickly smothered by the instinct to survive. She knew better than to offer solutions, especially ones that involved her being alone in their "perfectly normal home." They’d rather leave her out in the cold than risk letting her near their precious house unsupervised. And what would the neighbors think? Not that the neighbors cared how they treated her.

“I suppose we could take her with us…” Petunia muttered reluctantly, shooting Leora another look of contempt, “and leave her in the car.”

“No way! I won’t have her wrecking the car—it’s new,” Vernon growled, his face turning a deeper shade of red.

At this, Dudley began to wail, the fake sobs echoing through the room. He knew exactly what he was doing—Leora had seen it countless times before. All he had to do was cry, and his parents would bend over backward to make him happy.

“Oh, don’t cry, Dinky Duddydums, don’t worry, Mummy won’t let her ruin your special day!” Aunt Petunia cooed, immediately wrapping her arms around Dudley, who peeked at Leora from over his mother’s shoulder, grinning wickedly as tears slid down his fat cheeks.

“She… she ruins everything!” Dudley blubbered, but Leora caught the gleam of triumph in his eyes as he buried his face in his mother’s bony arms.

Just as Uncle Vernon was about to suggest something else, the doorbell rang, and Aunt Petunia’s head jerked toward the sound. “Good lord, they’re here already!” she exclaimed, looking flustered as she rushed to the door. A few moments later, Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, strutted into the house, followed by his mother. Piers, with his sharp, rat-like face, immediately caused Leora’s stomach to churn. He was Dudley’s accomplice in most of her torments, often the one holding her down while Dudley threw punches. Seeing him made Dudley stop his crying act immediately—he wouldn’t want to look weak in front of his best friend.

Half an hour later, the Dursleys had grudgingly decided to bring Leora along, squishing her between Dudley’s massive bulk and Piers’s sharp elbows in the back of Uncle Vernon’s car. The tension was suffocating, twisting around Leora like a heavy chain. Vernon’s warning before they left the house still hung in the air like a dark cloud.

“I’m warning you, girl,” he had spat, his face a furious shade of purple. “If you do anything, anything funny, you’ll be in that cupboard until Christmas.”

Leora had murmured her usual promise—“I won’t do anything”—but the knot of dread in her stomach tightened. She knew all too well that sometimes strange things happened around her, things she couldn’t control. Her thoughts drifted to the time Aunt Petunia had tried to force her into one of Dudley’s old sweaters, a horrible brown thing with orange puffballs. The more Aunt Petunia tugged and yanked at it, the smaller the sweater became until it was doll-sized. Aunt Petunia had been furious, but thankfully blamed the washing machine rather than Leora that time. But she wasn’t always so lucky.

On the other hand, Leora had been severely punished after a bizarre incident at school. Dudley’s gang had been chasing her, as they often did, and somehow, she had ended up sitting on the school’s chimney. Leora hadn’t meant to be there; she had only tried to hide behind the dumpsters, but when she next opened her eyes, she was perched high on the roof. The Dursleys had received an angry letter from the headmistress, accusing her of climbing school buildings. Later that evening, Leora overheard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon arguing in the living room about her. Though their voices were muffled, she could still make out certain words—"freakishness," "magic," and her mother’s name. Aunt Petunia rarely spoke of her mother, and when she did, it was with venom, calling her a “whore” and an “addict,” blaming her for the car accident that had left Leora with the scar on her face. Once, in a drunken tirade, Aunt Petunia had gone even further, bitterly lamenting how much Leora resembled her mother. “Perfect Lily with her rich freak husband,” she’d slurred, before spitting out, “Got herself murdered, leaving me with your freakishness.”

As they drove now, Uncle Vernon grumbled on and on about everything under the sun—his coworkers, the council, the bank, immigrants, and, of course, Leora. Today’s rant was focused on motorcycles. “Roaring along the road, hoodlums, driving like maniacs,” he growled, glaring as a motorcycle zoomed past the car. The sight of it stirred something in Leora, reminding her of the strange recurring dream she often had—a dream where a motorcycle floated through the sky, gliding smoothly beneath a blanket of stars.

The zoo was bustling with families enjoying the bright, sunny Saturday. At the entrance, the Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams. When the woman at the ice cream van looked expectantly at Leora, Aunt Petunia begrudgingly bought her a cheap ice pop. It wasn’t much, but Leora savored it anyway, licking the cold treat as she watched a gorilla scratch its head. She couldn’t help but think that the gorilla’s grumpy face resembled Dudley’s. Though, in truth, that was probably an insult to the gorilla.

That morning had been the best Leora had experienced in a long time. She kept her distance from Dudley and Piers, content to wander quietly. By lunchtime, though, the boys were growing bored of the animals. Having had their fill, their attention shifted back to their favorite pastime—bullying Leora. At the zoo restaurant, Dudley threw a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn’t have enough ice cream, prompting Uncle Vernon to buy him another one. Leora was allowed to finish the first, but even as she ate, a sense of dread crept up on her. She knew all too well that nothing good ever came from spending too much time around her relatives.

After lunch, they wandered into the reptile house. It was cool and dim inside, the glass enclosures housing lizards and snakes of every shape and size, each nestled in a miniature world of rocks, leaves, and wood. Dudley and Piers were fascinated by the biggest and most dramatic creatures—the poisonous cobras and the massive pythons. Predictably, Dudley soon found the largest snake in the exhibit, a boa constrictor that looked capable of wrapping itself around a car. The snake was sleeping, its large body coiled lazily in the tank.

“Make it move, Dad,” Dudley demanded, pressing his face against the glass. His beady eyes stared at the snake’s shiny brown scales, expecting it to do something on command. Uncle Vernon gave the glass a tap with his knuckles, but the snake didn’t stir.

“Again,” Dudley ordered, his voice sharper this time. Vernon tapped harder, but still, the snake didn’t budge.

“This one’s boring,” Dudley whined, stomping off in search of more active animals. As soon as he was gone, Leora stepped closer to the enclosure, drawn to the magnificent creature. She felt a strange connection to it, as though it was trapped behind that glass just as much as she was trapped in her cupboard at home, where her only visitor was Aunt Petunia banging on the door to wake her.

Suddenly, the snake opened its eyes. Slowly, it raised its head until its gaze locked onto Leora’s. It winked.

Leora blinked, startled. Could snakes even wink? She glanced around quickly, but no one else seemed to have noticed. Hesitantly, she winked back. To her amazement, the snake tilted its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then glanced up at the ceiling as if to say, *I get that all the time*.

She leaned in closer to the glass, her voice barely a whisper. “That must be really annoying.” The snake nodded vigorously in response, as if understanding every word.

“Where do you come from, anyway?” Leora asked, intrigued.

The snake pointed its tail at the sign next to its tank. She read aloud: *Boa Constrictor, Brazil*.

“Did you like it there?” she asked.

The boa constrictor tapped the sign again. Leora looked more closely and saw the words: *This specimen was bred in captivity*.

“Oh,” she murmured, “so you’ve never been to Brazil?”

The snake shook its head sadly. Before Leora could say more, a loud shout behind her shattered the moment.

“DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT IT’S DOING!”

Dudley came waddling over, shoving Leora aside without a second thought. She tumbled hard onto the concrete floor. Dazed, she barely registered what was happening as the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank vanished. The enormous snake began uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor.

The reptile house exploded into chaos. Screams echoed from every direction as people scrambled for the exits. Leora remained frozen on the ground, watching in awe as the snake slid past her. She could have sworn she heard it whisper, “Brazil, here I come… Thanks, amigo.”

The reptile keeper was in shock, mumbling incoherently about the missing glass. The zoo director himself rushed to apologize to Aunt Petunia, offering her a cup of strong tea as he babbled on about safety. Meanwhile, Dudley and Piers could only sputter nonsense. The snake had snapped at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were back in Uncle Vernon’s car, Dudley was claiming that the snake had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers insisted it had tried to swallow him whole.

But the worst part for Leora came when Piers, with a sly grin, piped up from the backseat, “Leora was talking to it, weren’t you, Leora?” That simple sentence turned the rest of the car ride into a tense, unbearable silence. Leora knew it was going to be a very long, painful journey back to Number Four.

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely home before turning his wrath on Leora. His fury was so intense that for a moment, he couldn’t even speak. His face turned an alarming shade of purple as he managed to choke out, “Go—cupboard—stay—no meals,” before collapsing into his armchair, gasping for breath. Aunt Petunia, her hands trembling, rushed to the cabinet and poured him a large brandy. Not willing to risk making the situation worse, Leora scurried to her cupboard, her stomach tightening with dread.

Lying awake in the pitch-black cupboard, Leora wished for what felt like the thousandth time that she had a watch. She had no idea what time it was, nor could she be sure if the Dursleys were asleep yet. She knew she couldn’t risk sneaking to the kitchen for food until she was certain. Almost ten years had passed since Leora first came to live with the Dursleys—ten years of relentless misery that seemed to stretch back as far as she could remember. They had been her guardians ever since her parents died in what they called a “car crash,” a story they repeated to anyone who would listen. Leora knew better, thanks to Aunt Petunia’s drunken rants, but the details of her parents’ deaths remained frustratingly vague. Sometimes, in the long, silent hours in the cupboard, a strange vision would flash in her mind—a blinding burst of green light, followed by an intense, burning pain on her forehead.

She assumed this was how she got her distinctive scar, a jagged line that cut from her hairline down to the middle of her nose. It was a wonder she wasn’t blind in the eye closest to it. Once, a substitute teacher had speculated that it might be a Lichtenberg figure, as if she’d been struck by lightning. But where had the green light come from? What did it mean? Leora didn’t know, and the Dursleys never spoke of her parents. Asking questions about them was strictly forbidden.

No photographs of her parents or grandparents adorned the house—at least, none that Leora had seen. But she was certain Aunt Petunia had some hidden away. When she was younger, she used to dream of a long-lost relative swooping in to rescue her from Privet Drive, but that dream had long since faded. The Dursleys were the only family she knew. And yet, Leora couldn’t shake the feeling that sometimes, strangers on the street recognized her. It was unsettling.

Once, a tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her while she was out grocery shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Aunt Petunia had scolded her fiercely for acknowledging him and had rushed them out of the store without buying a thing. Another time, a wild-looking old woman dressed entirely in green had waved at her cheerfully from across a bus. More recently, a bald man in a long purple coat had shaken her hand on the street before vanishing into the crowd without a word.

The strangest part about these encounters was how the people seemed to disappear the moment Leora tried to get a better look at them. Their sudden vanishing acts left her suspicious and increasingly convinced that magic might be more common than she had once thought.

At school, Leora was utterly alone. Everyone knew that Dudley’s gang despised that strange Leora Potter with her baggy, hand-me-down clothes and peculiar scar, and no one dared to disagree with them. This suited Leora just fine, as it left her with plenty of time to spend in the school library. Despite her relatives’ efforts to squash her academic success, she loved learning. It was the one thing they couldn’t take away from her, no matter how hard they tried.

If anyone is interested this is how I picture a young Leora.